


A Fatherless Son

by GoofyGoldenGirl



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Childhood, Coming of Age, Confessions, Family, Family Secrets, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Historical Hetalia, Languages, Middle Ages, Mother-Son Relationship, Origin Story, Paternity, Reconquista, Revelations, Siblings, Spain, based on a headcanon, black death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 12:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5005078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoofyGoldenGirl/pseuds/GoofyGoldenGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The child who would become Spain did not know who his father was </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fatherless Son

The child who would become Spain did not know who his father was. His mother had made sure she would take it to her grave.

Although Rome had been dead for more than four centuries, his rule had left Hispania bitter. Though not a proper state, she had been the guardian of the tribes who dwelt in the peninsula . Going where the wind would take her, she traveled from the cold mountains of the north to the hot dry lands of the south. She visited rural villages and magnificent city states alike, offering her assistance to those who needed it. A few months to a few years later, she would wander about again. The mortals had many names for her: The Traveller, Goddess, Green Eyed One, The Wandering Maiden, Horse Woman, but she requested that they call her Mother.

And she lived as she pleased until Rome and Carthage decided that her land was ripe for picking.

He had tricked her, claiming that he'd free her from Carthage's threat. But when the son of Phoenicia lay dead, Rome made his intentions clear. Her tribes rallied and she fought alongside them against the new, more powerful threat.

As the wars raged on, Rome's army only grew more victorious. Cornered on all sides, Hispania was forced to surrender.

She never forgave nor forgot. 

"The bastard," she spat whenever she heard his name. 

The boy did not understand her hatred for the once mighty empire. Rome had been like a god. No other state experienced such great success like he did. To have an empire like him as a father would be a great honor.

Spain made the mistake of asking Hispania if Rome was his father.

"Mother?" He asked. "Was Rome my father?"

"I did not let him touch me. I would have taken a knife to him like a butcher with sausage if it even crossed his mind," she replied. 

He decided not to ask her again.  
**************************************  
Mother led son by the hand through the busy streets in one of the many cities of the south. The Ummayyad Empire was paying a visit to the peninsula and as a custom, all personified nations in his territory had to check in with him.

A sweet scent tickled Spain's nose. He turned to see a stand that sold almond pastries. His mouth watered.

Hispania smiled down at her son and handed him two coins.

"Go on. Buy one."

He walked over to the stand and looked up at the seller, a man from North Africa.

_Can I have an almond pastry?_

The words that rolled out of his mouth were not in The Romance tongue. It was a strange language that clicked with long stretched out vowels. He let out a gasp, nearly covering his mouth with his hand.

The seller handed him the sweet, not noticing anything out of the ordinary.

"Have a good day little lord," he said in the same language that Spain had just spoke.

Normally chatty, Spain was quiet as he ate his pastry.

"You're nervous aren't you," Hispania said.

"Yes," he fibbed, not sure how to explain the sudden change that happened.

They had reached the palace and went into the throne room. Ummayyad, a tall, handsome man, splendidly dressed, with dark brown hair and a beard to match looked up from a conversation with his guards. Spain hid behind his mother's skirts, peeking out to see the man approach her. 

"Hispania!" He exclaimed in Romance. "What a pleasure to see you!"

He kissed her hand before turning to his guards to order them out. He spoke in his native tongue. 

Spain could understand every single word he said.

His mother gave him a gentle push. Spain stepped out and looked up at the man he had not seen in at least twenty years. 

"And Antonio!" The man kneeled and rubbed Spain's hair. "My oh my! You have grown!"

Spain realized that Ummayyad had switched back to the Romance language so that he could understand, but Spain was too shy to tell him that he had some knowledge of Arabic.  
*********************************************************************  
He paid his sisters Catalonia and Galicia and his brother Portugal a visit one day. They shared the same mother but were as different as they could be.

After a long day of play, the siblings relaxed in the garden. Spain, Portugal, and Catalonia sat in a circle underneath the apple tree. Galicia, who had not tired out, started to climb the tree.

"Careful up there!" Her twin brother Portugal called out.

"You worry too much," Galicia shouted.

"It's unladylike to climb trees," Catalonia added as she straightened her posture, and dusted off her skirts in an attempt to set a good example.

"I don't care!" Galicia made a face at her sister before grabbing the branch above her.

A silence fell upon the children. Spain saw his chance to ask what had always been on his mind:

"Nuria, Roxana, Christovao, do you know who your father is?" 

Surprised and confused, his siblings turned towards him.

"Mother won't tell me," answered Nuria who was picking up blades of glass and flicking them about. "But I think it's the same man who fathered the Francis boy in the north."

"Gaul? Why him?"

"Haven't you noticed that some of my words are like his?" Nuria explained. "Like how some of my words are like yours, but not exactly the same? That's how I know."

"You can't go on language alone, looks also matter!" Roxana piped up as she swung about. "Take a look at me and Christovao. Not only do we sound similar, but we look the same. Your tongue may be like Francis' but you look nothing like him!"

"That's because you're twins," Nuria said. "And don't you remember Gaul had light brown hair? I have brown hair, Mother also has brown hair, so I could be his daughter."

"Why do you want to know Antonio?" Christovao asked.

"Aren't you curious about who your father might be?" Antonio responded.

"Why does it matter? Our father might have been a mortal. Just like Francis' mother. He's probably dead now."

Perhaps Portugal was right. Maybe his father had been just another human. Spain pushed the thought to the back of his mind and forgot about it.  
*****************************************************************************************************************************************************************  
The years passed. Spain had come of age. Talented in the arts of war and the study of letters, he found success in the kingdoms he pledged his services to in the north and south. Although uncertain of his destiny as a kingdom in the future, he always had an optimistic outlook on life.

In the middle of the fourteenth century, tragedy occurred. A horrible plague had struck Europe, leaving thousands of dead in its wake. His mother had fallen ill and not even the best of physicians could cure her.

He rushed back to the castle where she had lived for hundreds of years. He found that all his siblings had come and were waiting for him.

"She wants to talk to you," one of his sisters said.

Spain was shown into his mother's chambers.

" _Antonio. Hijo mio,"_ Hispania weakly reached out to him.

He clasped her hand trying to hold back tears. Black boils covered her arms and neck. Her face was pale and clammy, and she flitted in and out of consciousness as they spoke.

"You're can't die," Spain tried to keep his tone level but his voice cracked. "You can't! We're immune to this plague!"

"You are young and strong," she said. "I have lived for thousands of years. I have done my duty. Now it's your turn."

She coughed. Blood dripped from the sides of her mouth.

"I remember when you were a little boy," she whispered. "You were such a beautiful boy. So curious and eager to go out into the world. And now, you are a man. I am so proud of you."

She squeezed his hand.

"My son, do you remember what you asked me so long ago?"

"What Mother?"

"You asked me," she started. "Who your father was. I didn't want to tell you then. I'd fear how you would take it. But now, I think you'll understand."

_The night was clear. Hispania stood out on the balcony. She gazed up at the stars above, lost in thought._

_"The moon is lovely. The stars shine bright. But none of them are as beautiful as you."_

_She turned to see Ummayyad join her._

_"Do you talk like this with every woman you meet?" She asked._

_"I don't dear lady. My words are only for you."_

_"It will take more than declarations of love to woo me," She said._

_"Then what am I supposed to do? Tell me."_

_"I don't take kindly to invaders who think that ruling **my** peninsula is their god given right." _

_"But it is a part of life, green eyed one. Men go to war, they conquer, and rule."_

_"Aye. But I am woman," she looked into his eyes for the first time since he addressed her. "I have no place in your world of war and conquest. And I've seen what men like you can do."_

_"I would never hurt you. I swear on my honor."_

_"Honor," she let out a laugh. "Honor? You must be very young. Since when have empires ever been honest?"_

_"I--"_

_"Don't make excuses. You are all the same. Kings, emperors, nations, and empires. They become blinded by their own arrogance and power, thinking that they are invincible. One day young man, you will fall. Just as I one day will die."_

_"I could prove myself," he said. "I could prove to you that I'm not like them."_

_"How?"_

_"I'll do anything," he stuttered. "Anything for you my lovely gazelle. Any wish, any dream, say it and I gladly will do for you."_

_Her hand cupped her chin as she studied him. He eagerly met her gaze, waiting for her answer. Finally she placed a hand on his shoulder._

_"I have many wishes Ummayyad. And not all of them can be met. Only time will tell."_

_She clutched the sides of her skirts and started to head back into the palace._

_"I have enjoyed this chat," she said. "It has been long since I have had good company. Perhaps we shall meet again?"_

_"Perhaps?" He was confused._

_"You're still like the others but there's one thing that stands out," she said. "You are not dull."_  
*******************************************************************************************************************  
Over a hundred years had passed. The army approached the city of Granada, anticipating the battle that was yet to come. Dreaming of spoils and riches, hoping that their bravery would be forever immortalized in song. 

The man who had just taken on the name Spain kept his gaze forward, a solemn, almost heartbroken expression on his face. Nevertheless, he pulled on the reins and rode on. 

"To victory!" The men yelled. "To victory!" 

A fierce battle broke out. Spain however did not join in the fight. He diverted from the army, past the chaos, the cries of the dead and dying, and dismounted his horse in front of a white building close to the Alhambra. He took his sword out from its scabbard and entered. 

He walked through the dark hallways; his sword at the ready in case of an ambush. But there was nobody to be found. The whole place had been deserted. 

Suddenly there came a creak. 

Spain leaned against the wall, his heart pounding rapidly. The sound of footsteps came from the opposite direction. 

"Who's there?" Came a frail, yet familiar voice. 

Spain froze. His teeth chattered as he tried to steady his breath. He shut his eyes, trying to hold back tears. 

"Whoever you are come out and face me!" 

Spain took one step out and pointed his sword straight at the figure before him. 

It was a middle aged man. He would have been a mirror image of the youth if there hadn't been streaks of grey in his hair and beard and if his eyes weren't a deep chestnut brown. 

Father and son stared at each other. Ummayyad put his hands up as if to surrender. 

"Antonio my son," he mournfully said. "Has it really come to this?" 

Spain started to sob. His arm shook as he inched closer. 

"How many years have passed since we've last seen each other? Two hundred? The last time I saw you, you were just a boy." 

The newly formed kingdom struggled to see through his tears. He gripped his sword so tightly that his hand was turning red. 

"You must hate me," Ummayyad sighed. "I do not blame you. You must think that you were just another of my many children. I wish I could have had a bigger role in your life. But perhaps…it is better this way. We are strangers of the same blood." 

There was a tense pause. Spain swung his sword in whatever direction his arm moved, nearly stumbling on his feet. 

"You are so young and so strong," Ummayyad whispered as a tear rolled down his cheek. "I was once like you. And now, look at how far I've sunk." 

The older man held his hand out, as if to pat his son's head like he did so long ago. 

"I love you Antonio. No father could ask for a better son. May _Allah_ guide you wherever your life leads." 

Spain let out a bloodcurdling scream. He lunged at Ummayyad with his sword raised high and ran it right through his chest. 


End file.
